Mardock Scramble

been officially recognized as a co-opted civilian aide to this case. As your user, we do really need her.”

Oeufcoque was unconvinced—and not only that, he was now uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Are you saying that we are the ones who get to choose whether Balot gets burnt out in the process?”

The Doctor appeared to falter, but he had a rejoinder. “I don’t know if you noticed, but at the trial just now, Balot’s Life Preservation Program was extended indefinitely. You know why, don’t you? Because the Broilerhouse recognizes that she’s still in danger. We don’t know what Boiled’s got up his sleeve, and depending on how these negotiations go, we may find that both Shell and Balot end up targets of OctoberCorp…”

–Half-baked little Oeufcoque…

Balot spoke quietly. The Doctor swallowed his words. Oeufcoque also was silent.

–Thank you so much for trying to protect me from ending up even more burnt out.

Just as Oeufcoque could now sniff out Balot’s innermost feelings, Balot was attuned to Oeufcoque’s emotional state. She knew full well that he blamed himself for not being able to protect her from the worst excesses of Shell’s corrupted memories while she was in her dream state.

–This is what I’ve chosen, though. I want to use you constructively. If you want to protect me, the best way to do that is to guide me.

“Even if, as a result, you end up facing something deeply unpleasant?”

–Bell Wing called you my guardian angel. Guardian angels are strict but kind. If I run away from everything that’s unpleasant, I’ll end up just like Shell messing with his own mind in order to try and find peace.

Why me? She still wanted more answers to this question. She was the Concerned Party in this case, and she wanted to find out what that really meant…

She wanted to determine with her own eyes what exactly it was that lay beyond the depths that she and Shell had fallen into.

She wanted to be able to feel with conviction that her own life was somehow meaningful.

She touched the choker on her neck, gently transmitting these feelings to Oeufcoque, like a prayer.

–This is our case. Yours and mine. All three of us. Won’t you please show me your way of resolving it?

Oeufcoque stayed silent for a while. Then, wordlessly, he agreed to bring Balot out. To take her away from her safe place and into the maelstrom.

“We need to solve the second case, and as such I’d like Balot to use me,” Oeufcoque said eventually.

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. “I have absolutely no aptitude for this sort of thing myself, you see. Gunfights aren’t my scene. Preparation and maintenance—now, you can rely on me for those—but if things start getting violent it’s Balot who will to need to protect me.”

Balot nodded. As long as she had Oeufcoque by her side she was confident she could do anything.

“Looks like we’re on the road to victory, then. Come on, let’s go. Time for us to solve our case.”

?

Balot went to sort out her outfit in the bathroom while the Doctor settled the bill.

She rolled up the long skirt that she had worn for the trial and took her underwear off and placed it on top of the toilet.

She took off her shoes and socks, placing her socks next to her underwear. Then she reached around and unzipped her dress, unhooked her bra, and loosened the belts that ran up and down her body.

She focused her mind on the precise image of the new outfit—a new shell—that she wanted.

–I’m ready.

She touched her choker to transmit the image to Oeufcoque.

Oeufcoque’s turn was quick and thorough. A skintight bodysuit spread out from underneath the choker, sliding neatly between Balot’s body and the clothes she still had on. It enveloped Balot swiftly from tip to toe. Power flowed through her.

Balot adjusted her clothes, put her shoes and socks back on, and left the bathroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror on the way out and subtly altered the design and color of the bodysuit so that it matched the rest of her clothes.

She returned to the restaurant and joined the Doctor to head out to the parking lot.

The red convertible was as good as new, brought back up to scratch in a week.

The car was officially registered as being made by an obscure custom car company, one that existed more or less in name only. There was only one garage that did repairs, and they had to special-order the parts on contract.

The parts in question were, of course, Made by Oeufcoque. Oeufcoque’s existence as a sentient being may not have been officially acknowledged, but the parts that he made certainly were.

They climbed into the car and the Doctor inserted the key and set the controls to AutoDrive. The steering wheel sank into the dashboard and found itself fixed in position.

“I’d be drunk driving otherwise. It’ll take us a little longer, but let’s go on auto.”

Balot fastened her seat belt, and the car moved off.

Their destination was a high-class bar on the North Side, and they had plenty of time to get there.

“Excuse me a minute,” the Doctor said as he leaned over toward the passenger seat and pressed his fingers against the electronic fingerprint scanner. A compartment in the dashboard opened out, revealing maps, a wallet, a small handgun, and a bottle of pills.

The Doctor placed the handgun in his jacket pocket and took the bottle in his hand.

The pills contained a potent double dose: a mixture of caffeine and enzymes that accelerated the breakdown of alcohol. The Doctor threw a fistful of them into his mouth as if they were so much candy, then popped the bottle back in the compartment, which he pushed back into the dashboard.

“Now, let’s see how they’re going to play this one…”

“They’re doing everything by the book so far,” Oeufcoque said, his voice emerging from the vicinity of Balot’s left hand. The Doctor nodded as if the short conversation had settled everything.

Balot looked straight ahead at the road. She thought how there was still so much she needed to learn.

“This is not a good smell. They’re waiting for us, ready for something. We’re not talking just one or two people there, either—there are at least five of them,” Oeufcoque said when they parked the car two blocks away from the bar.

The Doctor checked something out quickly on his PDA, then shrugged. “I get it. The bar’s part of a chain, and guess which corporation owns the chain? Not that I imagine many of their directors visit on a regular basis, of course.”

“How convenient for them. I guess the idea is that the whole bar could disappear off the face of the earth if need be,” said Oeufcoque.

“Uh-huh. It’s the underbelly of their empire—a place they use to conduct the shadier end of their business transactions. Rather than bothering to go in, why don’t we just launch a rocket or two at them? The joint’s a front, anyway—it’s not as if there’d be any innocent bystanders caught up in it.”

Balot braced herself, imagining for a moment that the Doctor was indeed about to do as he suggested.

“So we’re terrorists on top of everything else now, are we, Doc?” Oeufcoque’s sarcastic reply made Balot realize that of course they were going to do no such thing. “They’re going through the official channels, and as long as they stick to this, we do the same.”

“Sure, sure. Can’t say I’m wildly enthusiastic about the prospect, though. I suppose we can expect them to suggest some sort of trade or information exchange, although I’m not quite sure what they imagine is going to be in it for us. They must know by now that we’re not the sort to be bought off.”